Chapter 2 The First Day

Melissa's heart pounded as she stepped into Greyson Art Gallery for her first official day. The air smelled like polished wood and fresh paint, and the silence of the empty gallery made every step feel important.

She had barely slept the night before, her mind replaying yesterday's interview over and over. Devon Grey was a puzzle she couldn't figure out. His intense gaze, his cryptic way of speaking, and the way he hadn't even hesitated before hiring her-it all felt strange.

But she didn't have time to dwell on it now. Today, she had to prove herself.

At the front desk, Clara barely looked up from her phone.

"You made it," she said, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

Melissa gave a nervous smile. "Yeah. I'm ready to start."

Clara smirked. "Hope so. Devon's in the main gallery. Try not to trip over anything."

Melissa blinked. "Why would I-"

But Clara had already gone back to scrolling.

Taking a steadying breath, Melissa turned and made her way inside.

Devon was waiting for her near a large collection of paintings. His sharp gray eyes flickered at her as she approached.

"You're late," he said.

Melissa stiffened. "What? No, I'm not."

Devon tilted his head toward the clock on the wall. 9:01 AM.

Melissa bit her lip. "One minute?"

His lips twitched, almost like he was amused. "Every minute counts."

Great. He was one of those bosses.

"Follow me," Devon said, turning without waiting for her response.

Melissa scrambled to keep up.

As they walked through the gallery, Devon spoke in his usual calm, measured tone.

"This job isn't just about knowing art," he said. "It's about understanding it. Every painting tells a story. Every brushstroke has a purpose."

Melissa nodded, determined to keep up.

Devon stopped in front of a large canvas. It was an abstract piece, full of bold strokes and deep shadows.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Melissa hesitated, studying the painting. Most people would say it was just splashes of color, but something about it felt... deliberate.

"The contrast," she said slowly. "The darker strokes aren't random. They frame the lighter areas. It's like... a struggle between two sides."

Devon didn't react at first. Then, he nodded slightly. "Interesting."

Melissa exhaled, relieved she hadn't said something completely stupid.

"Come on," Devon said, moving again. "There's more to see."

By midday, Melissa was starting to get the hang of things. She had helped take inventory, arranged a few new pieces, and even assisted a couple of early visitors.

Despite Devon's intense presence, she enjoyed the work.

Then, while flipping through an old inventory log, she noticed something strange.

One of the paintings had no recorded history.

No artist name. No title. No acquisition details. Just a photo attached to the file.

Melissa's fingers tightened around the folder as she took a closer look.

Her breath hitched.

The painting was of a werewolf.

Not a terrifying beast-no, this one was majestic, its silver eyes glowing under a full moon. It stood tall, its presence commanding. And beside it...

Melissa's stomach flipped.

There was another werewolf. A male. And they were standing together.

Melissa's pulse pounded in her ears.

The female werewolf-she had her eyes.

"Melissa?"

She snapped the file shut, heart hammering.

Devon stood in the doorway, watching her with his usual unreadable expression.

"You found something," he said. Not a question. A statement.

Melissa hesitated, then slowly turned the file toward him. "This painting... there's no record of it."

Devon's jaw tightened. His normally composed face looked almost troubled.

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "You know what this is, don't you?"

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Devon sighed and walked closer, placing a hand on the folder. "It's complicated."

Melissa let out a frustrated laugh. "Oh, I bet it is. Because this-" she tapped the photo, voice rising, "-looks exactly like me! And you're telling me no one knows where it came from?"

Devon's gaze didn't waver. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

Devon exhaled through his nose like he was debating something. Then, in a quiet voice, he said,

"It's not just a painting, Melissa. It's a memory."

Melissa's blood ran cold. "What?"

Devon's eyes held hers. "You don't remember, but you've seen this before."

She shook her head. "That's... that's impossible."

"Is it?" Devon's voice was calm, but there was something in it-something ancient.

Melissa's chest tightened. "Why do I feel like you're hiding something?"

Devon's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because I am."

Melissa's breath hitched.

What?

Devon turned toward the covered painting in the farthest section of the gallery.

Melissa's skin prickled.

"Melissa," Devon said softly, "do you believe in fate?"

She swallowed hard.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Devon reached out, gripping the edge of the cloth. With one swift motion, he pulled it away.

Melissa gasped.

The painting beneath was the same one from the file-but larger, more vivid.

And in it, the female werewolf was staring right at her.

The room spun.

This isn't real. This isn't real.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Every part of her was screaming to run-but she couldn't move.

Devon stepped closer.

"You feel it, don't you?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Melissa's mouth went dry.

The pull in her chest. The strange sense of familiarity.

It was all real.

"I don't-" She shook her head, forcing out the words. "I don't understand."

Devon's gaze darkened. "Not yet. But you will."

Melissa's breath shuddered out of her.

And deep down, she knew he was right.

Something was waking up inside her.

And there was no stopping it now.